


A Different Sort of Friends

by shadow_lover



Category: The Goblin Emperor - Katherine Addison
Genre: Anal Sex, Consensual Nonmonogamy, Dom/sub, M/M, Masturbation, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Power Dynamics, Praise Kink, Size Kink, Threesome - M/M/M, Voyeurism, Yuleporn, Yuletide Treat
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-24
Updated: 2015-12-24
Packaged: 2018-05-08 22:26:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,828
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5515541
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shadow_lover/pseuds/shadow_lover
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Now,” Cala said, as something clicked in Beshelar’s hands. The lid of a jar twisting off. “Open him up for us." The use of the plural had never rung so <i>hot</i> through Maia’s ears.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Different Sort of Friends

**Author's Note:**

  * For [amyfortuna](https://archiveofourown.org/users/amyfortuna/gifts).



> Happy Yuletide! :)

As the edocharei stripped him of his jewels and vestments, Maia sat very still and pretended he could not feel his nohecharei’s gaze on him. Maia’s back was to the door, and he could not see them, but he knew they were watching, as they had watched all night.

It had been the first time Maia danced before the court. He had expected to be nervous, to quail under hundreds of judgmental stares, but Csethiro so cleverly guided him through the steps that he found himself unexpectedly confident. He lost himself to the rise and fall of the music, a slow song that quickened, and his pulse quickened with it. The steps seemed easier with each turn of the refrain.

Until Csethiro said, “Thy nohecharei are watching thee.”

“My nohecharei are always watching me,” he pointed out, though his ears twitched.

She smiled, and he’d learned she was always bad at concealing her amusement. “Not like this,” she said.

A glance at his nohecharei proved her right, and Maia faltered through the next step. There was a matched hunger in both their eyes, and Maia had never felt so exposed. When their eyes met across the room, Beshelar stiffened and looked away.

But Cala kept steady eye contact with Maia, a thoughtful expression crossing his face. Maia was ever glad not to blush, though he feared his mortification was evident regardless. He broke eye contact but could still feel the maza’s gaze on him.

“As I said, they watch thee,” said Csethiro. Her ears flicked up. “Enjoy thyself tonight.”

Before Maia could stutter an answer, the dance was over. They parted and bowed. Without asking if Maia cared to take the next dance, Csethiro escorted him back to his throne. There he sat and threw himself into conversation with those who approached—Ambassador Gormened had an update from the Avar, and Vedero said her friend of the unicorn coatrack was due to visit next week—but as he spoke, his thoughts drifted again and again to the silent guards at either side of him.

At the end of the banquet, Cala offered his hand to help Maia from the throne. His palm was warm against Maia’s, and his fingers lingered overlong against Maia’s pulse.

The walk back to the Alcethmeret was very slow. The halls were quiet save the tremendous pounding of his heartbeat. In his distraction, he once nearly made a wrong turn. Beshelar gently touched his shoulder to steer him straight. Even through layers of silk, the touch sent a shiver down Maia’s spine.

The edocharei were waiting in his chambers, Esha hastily putting away a pack of cards. Maia submitted to their attentions.

He had grown accustomed to the rituals of dressing and undressing every evening, even come to enjoy the gentle fingers combing through his hair and washing away the day’s cares. Tonight, though, he found himself hyperaware of his nohecharei’s gaze, and he struggled not to let the tension show in face or posture.

“Tell us of the party, Serenity,” said Nemer, and Maia was relieved when the edocharei seemed more interested in the food and wines than in the dancing.

“You must be very tired, Serenity,” said Avris later, as he tested the water of Maia’s bath. Esha gently nudged Maia to his feet, and together the edocharei removed the last of his clothing. Maia was incredibly aware of his nudity. There were screens between the bath and the door, where his nohecharei waited, but Maia did not delude himself that he could not be seen through the frosted glass.

As he sank into the water, he wondered if he might be imagining the nohecharei’s attention. It would not be the first time his overactive mind had invented such a fiction. He was desperately uncertain whether or not he wanted to be correct. _So, thy nohecharei watch thee. Of course they watch thee! That is their job_. For which Maia remembered resenting them all those months ago. Nowadays he imagined he would feel unsafe were they to look away.

He tipped his head back to wet his hair at Avris’s direction, and closed his eyes as those clever fingers massaged his scalp. For just an instant, he imagined those fingers longer, larger, blunt fingernails, sword-won calluses. He tensed as he realized what he was imagining, and Avris’s fingers stilled. “Our apologies, Serenity. Did we pull your hair?”

“Only a little,” said Maia. The awkwardness was enough to quell his physical response.

By the time Nemer urged him to his feet, he had regained his sense of composure. Avris towel-dried his hair while Nemer rubbed down his body, and Esha fetched his nightshirt from the wardrobe. Then Maia let himself be led from the bathing chamber to his bedroom, and it was easy enough to avoid his nohecharei’s gaze as his edocharei tucked him into bed.

“Good night, Serenity,” said Nemer.

Maia almost forgot to say, “Good night,” in return before the door closed at their backs.

And then the room was dark and silent. Maia wondered which nohecharis stood inside his chamber. He saw nothing from this angle, so he pushed himself up against the pillows.

“What is the matter, Serenity?” Beshelar asked. The soldier stood by the window, the sharp planes of his face lit by moonlight. He looked more concerned than the encounter warranted. This was far from the first time Maia had gotten up after the lights were extinguished.

Tonight, Beshelar’s eyes shifted, so that he never quite met Maia’s gaze, and he looked—not worried, Maia realized. Nervous.

So Maia answered, “We could ask you the same, Lieutenant.”

Beshelar scowled and looked away. “Nothing is the matter, Serenity. We apologize if we have given you cause to believe otherwise.”

Maia sat up more. “If there were something, we would ask you not to keep it from us.”

Beshelar said nothing, but his ears flattened slightly.

Maia sighed and swung his legs out so he perched on the edge of the bed. He felt guilty for pushing Beshelar for answers. It was unkind, and he held so much power over him, but he had to know. “Csethiro Zhasan said you watched us dance.”

In the moonlight, Beshelar grew paler. He held still a moment, then slowly crossed the room. When he knelt, it was with his usual careful stiffness, and his face was all but blank. 

Maia was very glad he did not prostrate himself. Having a conversation while Beshelar was on his knees, so close to Maia’s bare legs, was hard enough. 

“We apologize, Serenity, if we have given you cause to feel uneasy. We had no intention of offending.”

Maia looked into Beshelar’s eyes and was distressed to see their usual stern fire banked low. He was seized by the desire to do anything, everything, to rekindle those flames. “You have not offended us,” said Maia, and then swallowed. “Hast not offended me.”

Maia could see the gears turning in Beshelar’s head. The mortification melting into something far warmer along his features. “Serenity,” he said. “We are your nohecharis. You should feel safe with us.”

“I do,” said Maia. He realized his ears had drooped, and he held them stubbornly up. “I feel safer with you than anyone.” In that you he included Cala, Kiru, and Telimezh. “Please, stand. Needst not kneel to me.”

Beshelar’s expression threatened imminent judgment, but he stood at Maia’s command. Maia almost regretted the order, as now Beshelar towered over him. Sometimes he forgot how broad and large the soldier was. 

“We have wondered,” began Maia, taking refuge in his return to the formal, and then paused. He couldn’t think of a way to phrase his desires without sounding… young. Like the inexperienced fool he truly was. And he was seized with the fear that he should not be doing this to his nohecharis, for if he voiced his desires, Beshelar might feel obligated to fulfill them. Maia couldn’t bear the thought of drawing anyone to him by obligation.

Then Beshelar’s blunt fingers touched under his chin. They were softer than Maia had imagined. Beshelar tilted his face up. The soldier’s eyes burned with the same hunger with which he had watched Maia at the dance. “What have you wondered, Serenity?” he murmured.

Maia could hardly think. The barest touch of Beshelar’s fingers against his pulse was enough to drive him mad with—lust. That was the only word for it, and he had chastised himself for inappropriate infatuation before, but none ever so inappropriate as this. But if he were to behave so improperly, he owed Beshelar an honest answer.

The words barely escaped his lips. “I have wondered what it would be like to kiss you,” he said.

Beshelar’s eyes darkened, and his ears flared out. “We will not take advantage of you, Serenity.”

The thought that Beshelar might take advantage of _him_ had never occurred to him. He wanted to protest, but he thought Beshelar might not take his concern well. Yes, he was young, yes, he was inexperienced, yes, Beshelar could overpower him without even thinking about it, but he was also the emperor, and Beshelar’s life was bound to his.

So Maia simply said, “You cannot take advantage of us.”

“You are temptation incarnate, Serenity,” said Beshelar, as if he spoke to someone not in the room. “To watch you, and not to touch.”

“You _can_ touch,” said Maia, and he reached up to clasp his hand around Beshelar’s, as if to keep him from pulling away.

Beshelar looked lost for a moment, and then his face schooled into his usual stern expression. He leaned down so slowly, the moment stretched to forever, and at last their lips met.

Maia’s heart sang, and he was struck by how similar the feeling was to kissing Csethiro. Not in the particulars, no—Beshelar was so tall, the angle was different, he kissed more softly, tender movements as if he were afraid—but the deep twisting feeling in Mais’s gut was the same, the same heat flushing across his chest.

Then there was the faintest of sounds, and both Maia and Beshelar jumped near out of their skins. Beshelar had his sword half-drawn before either realized it was merely Cala Athmaza entering the room.

Cala tilted his head at the sight of naked steel, or, more precisely, at the sight of Beshelar standing over Maia’s bedside. But he closed the door carefully before speaking. “Damn. You aren’t starting without me, are you?”

Beshelar spluttered.

Maia took the opportunity to get to his feet. He still felt very small beside Beshelar, and even compared to Cala as the maza crossed the room. He was barefoot, clad only in his nightshirt, while they still wore boots and baldrics and unusually intense expressions.

“Starting without you?” hissed Beshelar, ears pinned back. He looked as guilty as Maia felt, and there was an air of helplessness to his words. “Nothing was happening.”

Maia stiffened. The words shouldn’t hurt—and Beshelar surely didn’t mean it like that—but he did not like to think that _nothing_ had happened. 

Cala and Beshelar noticed his distress immediately. Beshelar muttered a curse and turned away; Cala stepped closer. “Lieutenant Beshelar has ever been dreadful at expressing his feelings,” said Cala. “Would you believe, he held a torch for us for years before taking our bed?”

“You’re together,” said Maia. The thought was unexpected, but not surprising, and an image flashed through his mind of the two of them entangled, clothes discarded, Cala’s long neck arching back. 

Beshelar muttered something else that Maia couldn’t quite hear. “Not precisely,” answered Cala. “Sometimes we are, though.”

He drew closer still, until Maia had to look up to meet his eyes. Cala was even taller than Beshelar, not nearly so imposing. His eyes were ever kind behind his thick glasses, and now he was smiling gently. “Serenity,” he said. “May we?”

Maia hesitated, though his whole body yearned for a moment’s indiscretion. Then Csethiro’s words rang through his memory: _Enjoy thyself tonight._ His ears flicked up. He was willing, it seemed Cala and Beshelar were each willing. And he had had so few chances over his life to leap without looking. So he said, “Yes,” and tilted his head to accept Cala’s kiss.

The maza kissed nothing like Beshelar, and Maia was somehow unsurprised that Cala kissed harder, quicker. His tongue slipped between Maia’s lips and Maia opened to the touch. He kissed a great deal like Csethiro, taking control of them with his hand along Maia’s cheek.

Too soon Cala broke the kiss. His hand left Maia’s cheek a moment later. “We will be over here,” he said, and moved away.

Maia reeled, lost in the absence of touch. “What—but, we—” He choked down the rest of it, for he couldn’t stand to sound—

Desperate. Needy. And there was indeed a _need_ awakened within him, a warm, burning need left shivering, unfulfilled as Cala took his post between door and window.

A movement at his right. Maia had almost forgotten Beshelar, and he started when he looked at his soldier. Maia saw his own need mirrored in his eyes. As hungry as Beshelar had looked earlier, while Maia danced, while they kissed—he looked ten times more desperate now.

“One of us must stand guard,” explained Cala from ten paces away. He turned and tugged the curtains open so the moonlight better illuminated the room. “So we will watch, and give Lieutenant Beshelar direction as needed. Deret, does that suit you?”

Beshelar looked fit to burst—though with what, Maia couldn’t guess. Indignation? Arousal? His voice was gruff as he answered, “Yes, we’ll play your game—if His Serenity accepts and understands.”

Maia’s heart pounded, and his ears fell for an instant. “We understand,” he said cautiously. His every nerve sang with anticipation—he knew what he wanted, knew what, it seemed, his nohecharei seemed inclined to give him—and he was no stranger now to intercourse. He had lain with Csethiro as their nights and desires permitted. Though his only experience was with a woman, he knew from untoward talk at court how things generally went between marnei.

But Cala was shaking his head. “We beg your pardon, Serenity, but we would explain regardless.” His voice was lower than it pitched during the day, and he seemed more composed than the situation warranted. “We would give direction to Lieutenant Beshelar, and tell him how to touch you. We will not tell _you_ to do anything. At least, not directly.”

Maia blinked. So Cala would stand and give orders, and Beshelar would obey. Maia would not be ordered, nor would he be in a position to give them. The thought curled warm within him.

“So you must be very certain to tell us immediately if we ask for something you do not want to happen,” continued Cala. “You have only to call a halt and we’ll return to our usual duties.”

Maia thought carefully. Csethiro had mentioned such games, as something several friends of hers enjoyed playing at. He was embarrassed by how much the thought of relinquishing control excited him, and had to stop himself from blurting, _yes_. This was about more than just his desires; he had to consider the position he was putting his nohecharei in. Beshelar got so distressed when Maia didn’t properly live up to his responsibilities as emperor.

A glance at Beshelar waylaid his concerns. The nohecharis was watching him so intently, so hotly— but Maia still had to ask, “Are you alright with this?”

The soldier gave an aggrieved sound. “If you are, Serenity.”

“And dost _want_ this?” Maia looked down at his hands. The nails had grown long. “I would have nothing of thee that thou wisht not to give.”

A sigh, and then Beshelar was stepping forward, taking Maia’s hands in his own. Maia’s hands were so dark and small in his. “I do,” he said. His ears lifted bravely. “But, Serenity, though I would guard you from anything and everything, I cannot guard you from myself.”

“Cala will guard me,” said Maia, and it seemed that was the right thing to say, because Beshelar’s shoulders eased.

Cala coughed from his place at the window. “That settles it. Now, Beshelar, kiss him.”

This kiss had none of the hesitance of their last. Beshelar surged forward and took Maia’s mouth, one hand slipping around Maia’s arm, around his waist, pulling him closer. Maia gasped and went still with surprise, then melted into the heat of him, into the broad hand cupped around his waist.

Maia snaked his own hand up to grasp Beshelar’s neck, to steady himself as he fell into the kiss. 

“All right, well done,” said Cala. “Now, Beshelar, move to his neck. Do not bruise him!”

“I would not _bruise_ him,” said Beshelar, aghast, then he slipped a hand up behind Maia’s head. Maia closed his eyes and let Beshelar pull his head back, to the side. Beshelar pressed a dry kiss to the edge of his jaw. Another, just below, and another, wetter, farther down his neck. Open-mouthed, wet kisses, and just the edge of teeth. Maia stifled a moan, made only the faintest of sounds behind his clenched jaw, but even that small sound provoked an answering groan from Beshelar. The hand at his waist tightened.

“Take off your baldric,” came the next command. Beshelar pressed a last kiss to Maia’s jaw and pulled away, leaving him warm and panting and utterly in need.

Maia kept eye contact with Beshelar as the soldier stripped down. He unbuckled his belt, setting it and the sword carefully on the floor beside the bed. Beshelar looked almost naked without the blade at his side. As soon as he slipped his baldric over his head, Cala said, “Next your shirt.”

It was one thing to know Beshelar was strong, quite another to see the rippling muscles uncovered. Beshelar was built lean and large in a way Maia could never achieve even if he spent every day training. Pale skin, like white gold in the moonlight, and Maia desired very strongly to reach out and touch. He made a movement, then stopped, and glanced at Cala.

“Go on,” said Cala. “ _You_ do not have to wait for me.”

Maia set his ears high and swallowed. He was nervous at the thought of making a move—it had taken him so long to grow comfortable taking the lead at all with Csethiro—but this wasn’t exactly taking the lead. This was just acting on what he was already thinking, and he could do that within Cala’s constraints on Beshelar.

As unsteady as his nerves were, his cock was beginning to swell beneath his nightshirt. Maia didn’t bother to check if either nohecharis had noticed. He moved forward and reached out. His fingers splayed along Beshelar’s ribs, ghosted down and across his taut abdomen. The faintest trace of pale hair ran from his navel to the band of his trousers.

“Next thy trousers,” said Cala. “Well. Boots first, then the trousers.”

Beshelar rolled his eyes. “I know how to undress myself.” But he pulled from Maia’s tentative touch, and with a few quick movements stood entirely naked before him.

Maia couldn’t remember ever seeing another man’s naked body. He wasn’t sure whether or not to look. Whether to let his gaze linger on Beshelar’s long, thick cock, flushed dark from head to base, or to look up into Beshelar’s eyes, silver in the moonlight.

“Are you all right, Serenity?” asked Beshelar.

Maia's ears fell a moment. “Saidst thou wouldst trust me to say if I was not.”

Beshelar still looked uncertain, so Maia pulled him down for another kiss. Beshelar’s hands came up to cup his face, slipped further back to trace the outer edge of his ear. Maia’s knees weakened, and he moaned. He had always had sensitive ears, and before that had been a wholly negative thing. They used to hurt so when Setheris twisted them in rage. Now, though, as Beshelar’s fingers slipped behind and stroked so gently, Maia felt like he was about to finish on the spot.

“Serenity,” Beshelar murmured against his lips, and Maia found the honorific almost comforting. On Beshelar’s lips, each syllable warm with affection, it sounded more like an endearment than anything else.

“Now his nightshirt,” said Cala.

Beshelar didn’t break from kissing him as his hands moved to the laces at Maia’s throat. Gently, and Maia hardly realized when the gown slipped from his shoulders and puddled about his feet. He was used to his own nudity, even in front of Cala and Beshelar, but he was not used to then being pulled forward, broad hands about his narrow hips, to press against Beshelar’s naked body. The broad heat was overwhelming, and his cock pressed stiff against Maia’s belly.

Cala said, “Turn him, would you?” And Maia was spun, pulled back, so his back pressed tight to Beshelar’s front, that long, hard cock nestled now above his buttocks, and Maia exposed, facing Cala.

The maza was flushed, lips slightly parted, his arousal evident under his robe. His hands gripped the windowsill, and he smiled when Maia met his gaze. “Thou’rt lovely, Serenity,” he said, and Maia was speechless. Cala’s voice was altogether less gentle, though no less heated, when he addressed Beshelar again. “Wilt touch him, or wilt just stand there?”

Beshelar sighed into Maia’s ear, warm breath tickling so sweet and hot, and his hands moved from their place at Maia’s hips to caress his chest.

Maia trembled with need, with the soft, strong hands stroking up, blunt fingertips catching on his ribs, up more, grazing carelessly over his nipples—then, when he gasped, returning more slowly, kneading gently into them. 

“Do you like this?” Beshelar whispered, rolling Maia’s nipples into small, hard nubs.

Maia arched into the touch. Heat spread through him. “Thou knowst,” he managed. “Hast seen me lie with my wife.”

Cala laughed from across the room. “ _Beshelar_ never watches.”

“It would be entirely inappropriate,” Beshelar said, as he touched down Maia’s quivering belly. His fingers paused at the first curl of dark hair, just below his navel.

Maia broke away from Cala’s gaze to look down as those long, broad fingers curled around the base of his cock. He looked so dark against Beshelar’s fair hand. And the feeling—gods—not just the feeling, fingertips seeking out the pulse of his cock. But the knowledge that Cala was _watching_ , that neither he nor Beshelar was in charge of this encounter—it should terrify him, but Maia found himself craving more touch, and less control.

He stretched up an arm to catch hold of Beshelar’s neck, twisted and pulled and craned his neck until they could kiss. He heard a sharp inhalation from across the room. Beshelar’s lips were firm, wet against his, hot breaths mingling, a hint of teeth. Maia groaned as the hand slipped further around his cock, curled tighter, stroked up.

He couldn’t breathe, had to pull his mouth from Beshelar’s, tilt his head back onto Beshelar’s broad shoulder. He could feel his hair sticking in the sweat between them. Beshelar’s sword-roughened hand tugged quickly, surely, and Maia pushed into the grip. Beshelar held him in place with one arm tight around him, hand up flat on his chest. Maia wondered if Beshelar could feel the too-loud drumbeat of his heart. 

Maia squirmed, bit his lip, there was a shuddering inside him, and he looked up to meet Cala’s gaze again.

The maza looked awestruck, his careful expression fallen into naked want, and at some point he’d removed his baldric. But at Maia’s glance he blinked back into his role. “Enough,” he ordered. Maia nearly cried out as Beshelar’s hand left his cock, left him aching to the very core, but Cala’s eyes were bright and promised more pleasure to come. “Sit up on the bed, and bring him up with thee.”

A quick disorienting movement and Maia was lifted up by strong arms around his ribs and under his thighs. He yelped, but Beshelar eased back onto the bed gently. The soldier sat upright a bit back from the edge, legs hanging over, and pulled Maia up to sit between them. His hard cock kissed a spot of dampness against Maia’s back. 

“Like this?” asked Beshelar, and Maia too glanced at Cala.

“No,” said Cala. “Not quite. Here.” He left his spot at the window, crossing the room with greater speed than his calm voice indicated. When he stopped, the edge of his worn blue robe tickled the inside of Maia’s thighs.

Maia looked up at him. The maza had an intensity to his gaze that Maia had only ever seen in times of danger. But instead of fury or fear, this was pure fire. Maia remembered suddenly that this was a man who could kill with a snap of his fingers.

“If I may, Serenity,” said Cala.

“Yes,” said Maia. “Thou mayst.”

Those killing fingers were whisper-soft as they urged Maia further up into Beshelar’s lap, as they lifted Maia’s legs to hook wide over Beshelar’s. He was spread out over Beshelar’s body, utterly exposed, and he fought the urge to cover himself.

“Thou’rt lovely,” said Cala again, ears dipping and flaring. And he bent down to pull one soft kiss from Maia’s lips before leaving. But he didn’t return to his spot at the window. Instead he wandered deeper into Maia’s chambers, and Maia lost sight of him over Beshelar’s shoulder.

Maia looked up at his soldier. “Art alright?” he asked, and when Beshelar scowled, he had to grin.

“You are impossible, Serenity,” said Beshelar, and his hands wandered again over Maia’s body. He touched along his thighs, his ribs, pinched and twisted at his nipples. He touched everywhere except Maia’s throbbing cock.

Maia moaned, squirmed, and grasped at the bedclothes. 

Cala reappeared. By the padding of his feet over tile, then wood, he had stopped in the bathing chamber. He held something in his hand, and this time when he stooped over it was to kiss Beshelar. Maia had to twist around to watch, and he was amazed at how Beshelar floated into the kiss, as if drawn to Cala by some sweet magic. Maia barely noticed as the small object passed from Cala’s hands to Beshelar’s.

Then Cala moved away again, back to his moonlit spot by the window. He was touching his lips as he turned to face Maia and Beshelar. 

“Now,” Cala said, as something clicked in Beshelar’s hands. The lid of a jar twisting off. “Open him up for us.” The use of the plural had never rung so _hot_ through Maia’s ears.

The words had a similar effect on Beshelar; the soldier groaned and brought the jar around in front of Maia. When he dipped his fingers in, oil dripped onto Maia’s belly, trickled tickling down. A sharp splash of cold against his fevered skin. The oil coated Beshelar’s fingers, gleaming pale in starlight, and puddled in his palm.

Beshelar leaned over and set the open jar on the bedside table. More oil spilled from Beshelar’s hand onto Maia’s thighs, and Maia’s cock twitched against his belly. Beshelar first ran his slick knuckles down the underside of Maia’s cock, and Maia arched up into the faint touch. Then tender, slow wetness, rolling over his sac, sliding up and behind him. Maia moaned at the slick, slipping heat, rolling over his balls and back around to circle his cock. He threw his head back and closed his eyes, unable to stand the intensity of Cala’s gaze.

He jerked in Beshelar’s arms as one blunt fingertip pressed against his hole, and Beshelar stilled until he relaxed. One moment of steadying breaths. Beshelar traced around his hole, ran his wet finger back and forth. Maia’s delicate flesh near hummed with the tender touch. “Is this good?” groaned Beshelar in Maia’s ear.

“Yes,” Maia managed, ears twitching. “Please.”

 _Please continue, please don’t let go, please give me what thou hast promised._ Maia’s spread thighs trembled over Beshelar’s as the first fingertip pressed inside him, both larger and easier than Maia had expected. Beshelar’s hands were so large, and they felt so much larger than they looked, but Maia’s body was hungry for the touch. His hole opened easily to the finger, taking Beshelar in to the first knuckle, the second.

“You’re doing so well,” said Cala to both of them. “Move now, and add another when thou canst.”

And Beshelar’s finger dragged out, slick with oil, and slid back in, again, Maia groaned. “Gods,” he breathed, and a guilty part of him regretted the outburst. He hoped, if they cared, the gods were _not_ listening.

Another finger pushed in with the first, and the sweet stretch was unlike anything Maia had ever felt. He wondered if this was anything like what Csethiro felt as he touched inside her, if he squirmed anything like the way she writhed above him, and then—hot sparks of pleasure, like stars within him—all thought of Csethiro was driven from his mind. Beshelar’s fingers curled forward, rubbed at a bundle of nerves Maia hadn’t known existed, and he bucked up, as if to get away—then sank back down onto the slow-pumping fingers. 

“What—what’s—” He writhed, eyes rolling back in his head. He was on the edge of coming, didn’t know if he could hold off any longer—didn’t know if he even should try to hold off, but somehow he wanted to impress his nohecharei. They knew he was young, knew his only experience was the three months in his marriage bed—yet he wanted, in this at least, not to fall apart. 

Yet he would have let go were it not for Cala’s blessed voice, shaking from across the room. “Hold, now.” The thick fingers stilled immediately, though Beshelar’s arms trembled about Maia and his breath was unsteady. “Alright. Gods, Serenity, thou’rt beautiful. I never would have thought—but I should have known. Thou’rt beautiful in all thou dost.”

Maia met his gaze, unable in his shaking need to conceal his shock. “You are—thou’rt too kind,” he managed. “Please, I need—”

“Yes, Serenity?” Beshelar’s voice was gruff against his neck. 

Maia wriggled back as best he could, rubbed himself against Beshelar’s cock. “Please, Beshelar. Wilt fill me?”

A moment of silence and Maia could swear both nohecharei had ceased to breathe. Then Beshelar murmured something dark and filthy into his shoulder, and Maia shivered. “Like this?” Beshelar asked.

Maia forgot a moment the rules of the game, and was about to answer, _like this, gods, yes, any way wouldst have me, please, just take me soon before I break_ , but it was Cala who answered aloud. “No, wilt have to move,” said Cala. His grip on the windowsill was so tight it seemed the wood might splinter under his grasp. “Wouldst thou move His Serenity to his hands and knees?”

Beshelar’s hands were wet along Maia’s flanks, damp handprints over his dark thighs, as he urged Maia up and onto the bed. Maia struggled along to put himself in the commanded position, but Beshelar maneuvered him like a doll before he could do much to help. Maia quivered on hands and knees, cock bobbing under his belly, sweat cooling on his neck. He faced Cala, as before, and waited for Beshelar to touch him again. 

But Beshelar was waiting too, a warm presence in the bed behind him. Only his knee pressed against Maia’s calf in reassurance that he was still there. Maia was nearly out of his mind with lust, yet so long as he was with Cala and Beshelar he would not go mad. They were the anchors that tethered him to the world, that tethered him to himself, and he trusted them to ensure he did not fly too far away.

“Wilt need more oil,” said Cala. His hand had fallen to his groin, and cupped his cock through the loose robe. One ear twitched slightly higher than the other. His eyes moved always from the door to the window to Beshelar behind Maia to the dark shadowed corners to Maia’s face, ever to Maia’s face. Cala licked his lips and Maia wondered what the maza _saw_ in him now. If he saw his emperor, his friend, someone or something else.

Movement on the bed behind him, click of jar on tabletop, and then Beshelar settled in again, just behind and to the side of Maia.

 _So Cala can see_ him _too_ , realized Maia, as Cala said, “Stroke thyself.”

Beshelar gave a shuddering groan, and a soft, slick sound began. Maia recalled that he was not bound to Cala’s rules, so he sat back up on his haunches to watch Beshelar. 

Beshelar’s hand moved slowly over his cock, gleaming hands white against hard pink skin. His cock had grown harder, looked larger than it had felt against Maia’s back, and Maia was overcome with desire to know what that cock would feel like inside him. If Beshelar’s fingers alone had felt so very large, and if Maia could see now how much thinner those fingers were than the cock they slid up and down—

 _It would be entirely inappropriate_ , he heard Beshelar’s voice echoing in his head. He was entranced by the slow movements, how subtly Beshelar’s hand moved on his cock, a slight twist as he rocked up. Sweat gleamed along his collarbone and his taut abdomen tensed. Even in his pleasure, he looked dangerous, a wild beast tamed only by his own will. He did not have to obey Cala, and that choice made his obedience all the sweeter.

Maia found he quite liked a game where one could choose to give orders or follow them as one wished.

“Cala,” said Beshelar. His voice was steady, though his glance at Maia was furtive. “I’m getting close.”

“Thou’rt good,” said Cala. He had his own hands at the windowsill again, as if only his grip on the wood kept him from rutting himself to completion right then and there. “I wish to see thee cover His Serenity.”

Beshelar let go his cock, and Maia saw seed beading from the tip of it. He looked up to meet Beshelar’s gaze, and his soldier touched a wet hand to his shoulder. “We can stop at any moment,” he said. “We are at thy command.”

Maia knew this was not for his benefit but for Beshelar’s. The nohecharei were not now at command of their emperor but at command of their friend, tonight their lover, Maia Drazhar. His word alone was enough to dictate his needs, with or without the authority of his office. So Maia gave a slow, slow smile, let go the tenuous grip he’d kept on his desires, and panted, “As Cala said. Cover me.”

As Beshelar pushed him forward onto his hands, as he arched his back, lifted his head to meet Cala’s gaze squarely, Maia thought he had never been as in control as this. He tightened his grip on the sheets, tensing up despite himself, and then Beshelar’s broad hands were soothing over his back. They massaged down the sides of his spine, leaving him loose and damp with oil. Beshelar pressed up behind him, his cock heavy between Maia’s buttocks.

“Push inside him,” said Cala, more growl than speech. “All the way, then stop.”

A hand over his lower back, steadying him, and another behind, lining Beshelar up against Maia’s hole. Maia inhaled, slowly. He met Cala’s eyes and exhaled. As he breathed out, Beshelar pushed inside him with one slow thrust, slick and huge and like fire inside Maia, until he was seated all the way in.

Cala’s eyes were almost comically round behind his glasses. Maia tried to breathe deeply. His chest heaved in shallow pants as he struggled to adjust to the sheer size of Beshelar inside him. His ears pinned tight to his head. There was a slight burn, an ache beyond what he’d felt with merely two fingers inside. Beshelar’s fingers now were digging into his hips, holding him steady, or holding Beshelar steady, he wasn’t sure which.

Maia had never imagined it would feel like this, hot and overwhelming, filling him deeper than he had known possible. He’d never imagined he’d _want_ it so much. Even as he shook under Beshelar’s hands, he reveled in the stretch of fullness.

“Thou’rt so good,” said Cala. “Gods, I can’t believe—hast no idea how thou lookst, Serenity. I could watch thee for hours. Deret, how does he _feel_ around thee?”

Beshelar groaned, and he dropped one hand down to the mattress so that he did not crush Maia as he leaned over his back. The oil was wet and warm between them, and the movement pushed Beshelar’s cock to an entirely new angle. Maia whined.

“I cannot say,” said Beshelar, and though he was speaking to Cala his words were meant for Maia. “Gods, he’s so tight, but I slipped right in. Wouldst not think he could take me, he’s so small. And he heats up like nothing thou hast ever felt.”

Maia hoped he would not have to give his own report, as he wasn’t sure he could even attempt coherence.

Cala muttered something, tipped back his head a moment, and then resumed control. “I want thee to fuck His Serenity now. Mayst finish him as quickly as thou likest, but he _must_ finish before thee.”

Without a moment’s hesitation, Beshelar pulled back, back, and thrust in again. Maia whimpered. Beshelar hesitated at the sound, before a glare from Cala set him moving again. Cala could see Maia’s face, had to see the desperation burning in his eyes, had to see that Maia’s quiet cries were not of pain. Beshelar fucked into him slowly, steadily. He shifted his weight every few strokes, each time angling his cock a different way inside Maia’s ready body, until he again hit that sweet spot.

He had to drop his head. It was all he could do to keep his arms steady beneath him, to rock back into Beshelar’s thrusts. Even slowly, gently, his cock stretched so deeply into Maia that he could think of nothing else. The room, the Alcethmeret, the palace, all the Ethuveraz disappeared from around him. There was nothing but this, white-hot pleasure searing through his every nerve, the deep ache he’d never known he needed. Lips brushing the edge of his ear, teeth in his earlobe.

Maia whined. His flared ears trembled. He was so close to completion already, his cock hot and heavy, thrusting helplessly into thin air as Beshelar pushed into him. He was so close, he needed— “More,” he groaned. “Please, Beshelar, I need more.”

Beshelar didn’t change his rhythm until Cala said, “Gods, give him what he wants,” and then Beshelar pulled back, pulled Maia back by the hips, and rammed into him. Maia cried out— _too loudly, gods, pull thyself together_ —and his arms buckled. Beshelar pushed him down so his cheek and chest pressed into the rumpled sheets. The cloth stuck to his oil-slick skin. Each breath was a whimper, caught behind clenched teeth, as Beshelar pounded into him.

He still needed more, he was so close, but he was too breathless for words. Cala knew, though, somehow, for he said, “Take him in hand.”

“Serenity,” murmured Beshelar, and dipped his hand around from Maia’s hip to circle tight around his cock. The touch was nearly too much for Maia, his flesh swollen and so sensitive to the slick fingers wrapping around him. Beshelar pumped his hand in time with his thrusting hips, tugging Maia’s cock rough and fast, and Maia lost all ability to keep up with the rhythm. All he could do was bend there, on his knees, and claw at the sheets as Beshelar took him. His mind fogged with pleasure and all he could hear through the hot haze was Beshelar’s ragged breath above him, the rapid, stinging slap against his buttocks.

“Pull him up,” said Cala. “I want to see.”

Maia didn’t get it at first, didn’t understand _what_ Cala wanted to see, but then Beshelar was pulling him up by the shoulder, leaning back until he sat on his heels with Maia spread again over his lap, hand still pumping his cock, hips still rocking up into him.

And it was there, with his head tossed back against Beshelar’s shoulder and Cala’s eyes fixed unwaveringly on him, that Maia came shaking, shivering, spilling over Beshelar’s hand.

Beshelar’s thrusts slowed, but he never stopped moving, even as Maia writhed on top of him, one ear twitching through the aftershocks. At last the wave of pleasure crashed. Maia hung limp over Beshelar, held up only by the arm around his waist. Beshelar made to lift him up, but Maia grabbed hold of his arms and held him still. “Finish in me,” he breathed.

This time, Beshelar didn’t wait for Cala’s command. He pushed Maia back down, hand firm and warm on his shoulder blade, and pounded into him. The drag of his cock on Maia’s hypersensitive nerves was almost painful, and Maia screwed shut his eyes to bear the last of it. Just a few strokes later, Beshelar came to a grinding, quivering halt against him. Maia could feel his cock pulsing inside him and the seed spilling into him.

Though Beshelar finished silently, there was another choked noise from across the room.

Then silence, again, but for their ragged breaths. Maia felt Beshelar heavy above him, and the oil was starting to cool sticky between them. He shifted slightly, and felt his legs starting to cramp up. 

Beshelar pushed up off of him. His softening cock slipped out from Maia, but Maia could still feel the ache of it deep within. As soon as he could, he sat up on the bed, feet hanging off the side, thoroughly dazed.

Across the room, Cala was wiping his hand clean on a handkerchief. His face was very dark, and he would be pink in sunlight. His queue was so bedraggled it was nearly falling apart. They made a peculiar tableau: The emperor, naked and filthy at the side of his bed, his nohecharis poised similarly at the other side, and his other nohecharis watching, fully clothed, from the window. Maia heart still raced from the night’s exertions. He felt drunk with it.

“We have ruined the sheets,” said Maia, once he had regained some of his composure. He gestured to the rumpled bedspread, the dark, damp patches of oil and sweat. The bed smelled of them, and as much as that thrilled a deep part of Maia, he knew he could not let his edocharei find the bed like this in the morning. Not when the empress had not spent the night.

Cala tucked away his handkerchief. “Let me attend that, Serenity. Would you stand?”

In response to the plural imperative, Maia and Beshelar both got to their feet. Maia’s legs shook somewhat beneath him, but he was surprised to see Beshelar unsteady as well.

Cala walked towards them and first paused before Beshelar, cupping his long fingers around his cheek. “Didst well,” he said softly, and this wasn’t a moment meant for Maia. “Didst very well. Art feeling all right?”

Beshelar’s spine straightened, and he regained some of the clear, stern look in his eyes. His ears rose. “I am well. Take care of His Serenity.”

Cala leaned forward to share a slow kiss with Beshelar. The soldier closed his eyes and seemed to melt into the kiss; Maia was amazed at how pliant he could be. 

Cala was smiling as he pulled away, and he turned to Maia. “Art well, Serenity?”

“Yes.” There was a calm in him, a warm peace he usually felt only through meditation. It was easy to transition from the high of completion into dreams, and he thought if he closed his eyes a moment he would fall asleep on his feet. 

Cala did not kiss him, though he laid a hand on Maia’s shoulder as he inspected the bed. “One moment—there!” He flung out his other hand and magic sizzled from it. The sheets ruffled as if in a stiff breeze, and when they settled again they were clean.

“That’s useful,” said Maia.

“You have never lived in a dormitory, Serenity,” said Cala, picking up the half-empty jar of oil. “Now, we must get you clean as well.”

The three of them made their way into the bathing chambers. Maia nearly dozed off more than once as Cala cleaned him with a wet towel, his touch as gentle and chaste as that of his edocharei. There was no sign in his movements that just minutes ago he had been fisting his cock to the sight of Maia bending over for Beshelar. _We are back to our routine_ , Maia realized, and he was profoundly grateful that it seemed nothing fundamental had changed between the three of them.

Beshelar had cleaned himself up and dressed again, sword and all, by the time Cala led Maia back to the bedroom. He too looked as he always did, though perhaps his hair was less neatly knotted than usual.

Maia reached for his nightshirt and put it on himself before either could protest. He had just had sex with his nohecharei; dressing himself was hardly inappropriate in comparison.

“We must return to our post outside your door,” said Cala. “Please sleep well, Serenity.”

Maia hesitated a moment, but Cala’s smile was inviting. So he reached to take one last kiss from the maza, chaste and dry. When they parted, a glance at Beshelar showed him watching intently.

Cala laughed. “Perhaps next time _you_ will watch,” he said.

Beshelar flushed. “Whether there will be a next time remains to be seen.” His voice was gruff, but Maia could hear the uncertainty underlying the words.

So Maia said, quietly, “We would like to do this again. Or other things.”

Cala’s smile shone near as bright as the moon outside the window, and Beshelar’s scowl took on the particular squint that signaled affection. Cala said, “We are yours, Serenity.” He bowed low, then left the room as quietly as he had entered it.

Maia considered for the briefest of moments asking Beshelar to lie with him. Even for only ten minutes, twenty. Until he fell asleep, for once not alone in his too-large bed. But Maia knew that was not fair to ask of the soldier, and in truth, it was not what _he_ needed either.

So he tucked his legs under the clean bedclothes and curled up against his pillow. “Good night, Lieutenant,” he murmured.

And he could hear the loving grin in Beshelar’s reply: “Good night, Serenity.”

Maia slept, safe and sound, under his nohecharis’s watchful gaze.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Between Them](https://archiveofourown.org/works/5668405) by [Path](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Path/pseuds/Path)




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